


now, we’re home

by fraldariuwus (sakesword)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kissing, Love, Marriage, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, SFW Until the End, Sexual Content, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, background ships, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakesword/pseuds/fraldariuwus
Summary: The story of the wedding of Duke and Duchess Fraldarius.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 16
Kudos: 59
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	now, we’re home

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this was written for the Ultra Rarepair Big Bang 2020~ I was lucky to team up with my bff [Nunu](https://twitter.com/nunuu_js) who drew gorgeous [artwork](https://twitter.com/nunuu_js/status/1301720296496529408?s=21) of Dorothea and Felix for this fic.
> 
> There is NSFW content here, but only in the very last scene, so feel free to read up until the end of the dance if you aren’t into that!

“Almost finished, Lady Arnault,” one of the handmaidens announces as she clasps together the hinge at the back neckline of Dorothea’s wedding dress.

Before Dorothea can survey her reflection and take this all in, Yuri interrupts, reminding both the girl and herself, “It’s Duchess Fraldarius, now.”

 _Duchess_ ; Dorothea might cry from only that, but she pushes through, twirling in her rose-embellished custom gown, “Yurikins, how do I look?”

It’s not a serious question. Dorothea knows they both know she looks good, beautiful; ravishing, even. The dress was crafted specifically for her, and it couldn't suit her more if Dorothea designed it herself. The high lace neckline, the keyhole opening that displays her best assets, the caress of her sought-after curves, plus the train, long, but not too long, decorated with hand-sewn roses that trail behind her.

Yuri doesn’t answer, but Dorothea reads his meaning all the same. His eyes scan her body, the cascading curls that fall from her half-up, half-down hairstyle, and those left loose to frame her heart-shaped face before suggesting, “We’ll be late, I need to get started on your makeup.”

“You do,” Dorothea agrees before she carefully settles onto a cushioned chair, its backrest carved of rare Faerghean winter wood. 

Yuri scurries off before returning with a rather large makeup bag. It’s only grown more stuffed over the years, Dorothea remembers the first time they played with their collections back in her dorm room in Garreg Mach. 

“I’m honored to be of assistance.”

“Oh, Yurikins, stop,” Dorothea says. “You’re making this day more serious than it already is.” The day, she, Dorothea Arnault, the girl who never thought she’d even survive this long, through her childhood, through the war, makes the commitment to spend the rest of her life with another, places her trust in another.

“Sorry, Ladybird,” Yuri apologizes. “I’m just happy for you.” He digs through the bag and lays out an array of powders and brushes and creams on the vanity in front of Dorothea. “Now, what are we feeling today? I was thinking something subtle, but still sexy to complement your dress. Or do you want to go full glam?”

“I trust your judgement.”

“Subtle, it is.”

Yuri falls into a routine, an order they both know by heart: skin, eyes, lips.

The skin is the most important for an elegant maquillage like the one Yuri is attempting, so Yuri takes his time, applying various powders not only to even Dorothea’s skin tone, but also to bring warmth to her cheeks, and highlight her features. Yuri then begins on Dorothea’s eye makeup, swiping a few brushes over Dorothea’s lids.

Manuela is supposed to be here. Though Yuri is Dorothea’s best friend, having her mentor here would perfect what’s already to be a perfect day.

“Look up,” Yuri says as he nudges a mascara wand through Dorothea’s lashes. “You’re already stunning.”

The brush fibers tickle Dorothea’s face as he continues. Yuri’s so focused, biting his lip, squinting, scrutinizing every centimeter as he goes, even though they may be late. 

What time is it, anyway? The morning flew by; Dorothea bathed, had her hair done by the handmaidens, and now this. Will she even have the chance to practice her vows?

“Yurikins,” Dorothea says.

“What is it?” Yuri’s hand tilts Dorothea’s chin up. “Purse your lips.”

“Thanks,” is all she manages before Yuri dabs at her mouth with a thin brush. When he stops to smile and examine the makeup, Dorothea follows up with, “for everything.”

“No need. No matter what, I’m here for you.”

“I know.”

Yuri swallows before he says, “You found the right one.”

That trite phrase takes Dorothea aback, Yuri would never say that unless he meant it or if he wanted something from someone; with herself, it has to be the former. Since hers and Felix's courtship began, Dorothea wondered if Yuri could ever approve of her falling in love with a noble—for real, utterly and completely—not as a stepping stone. And not only a noble, but Felix Hugo Fraldarius, who claimed to love swords more than women, more than his friends, more than his King. Felix just might have; until Dorothea and Felix met, until they grew, apart, then together.

Dorothea herself couldn’t have imagined this when she first approached Felix. It’d been simply practical to get to know all of the nobles at the Academy, to endear herself to them. Yuri would certainly co-sign on that tactic. Yet, Felix saw Dorothea for who she was, and she him, in return. They accepted each other’s strengths and weaknesses, the hopes and dreams they’d never whisper, the peace couldn’t help but share and hold close.

Silence fills the chamber as Yuri puts the final touches on Dorothea’s makeup. The winter air flowing in is warm.

“Done,” Yuri announces, and steps to the side so Dorothea can study his work via the reflection in the dressing room’s ornate mirror.

Dorothea is stunned by her own visage. Yuri chose well, the muted blush eyeshadow shimmers, enhancing the bright emerald of Dorothea’s large eyes. Her dark, thick lashes are long when she blinks. Yuri dusted Dorothea’s cheeks with the perfect shade of peach, painted her lips with the most natural, yet alluring pink, it glistens when she turns her head to the side. Ethereal and subdued at once.

Dorothea might cry, again, she squeezes her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay and not ruin Yuri’s masterpiece, “Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure.” Yuri glows. Yuri touches Dorothea’s forearm. Yuri holds Dorothea’s hand.

Dorothea sniffles.

That’s all, though, she takes a deep breath, and gestures toward the unopened wine sitting next to them, “Let’s celebrate!”

“I thought you’d never ask, I’ve been dying to try wine from Fraldarius. Faerghus isn’t the most hospitable place for grapes, but they make up for it in their masterfully blended sparkling wines.” Well-versed in such matters, Yuri lifts the bottle and grasps the bottom, twisting it in his palm to release the cork with only a soft hiss. Poised and controlled; Dorothea isn’t surprised. Yuri serves both of them in fluted glassware.

They clink their cups together and as soon as the effervescent wine hits Dorothea’s tongue, she’s feeling effervescent as well. She may not have many in her corner, she may not have her own home, but she will have one soon, and she’ll always have one here with Yuri.

“To Duchess Fraldarius,” Yuri toasts, his amethyst eyes meet Dorothea’s, and she beams.

“How far we’ve both come.”

“You’re right.” Yuri laughs. This is what Dorothea needed. A quick respite before what’s certain to be romantic, but will have the somber atmosphere Faerghus is renowned for. Marrying into House Fraldarius, the newly restored Kingdom’s second-in-command—all manner of nobility will be in attendance, all manner of customs are to be followed in their joyous union.

It’s the dead of the Guardian Moon, and in another world, Dorothea might have been happy to elope with Felix, steal away to somewhere more hospitable, a beach, even Enbarr would do. They could have felt the sand between their toes as they said their vows, been warmed by more than the embrace of the Goddess and the stoic line of Fraldariuses that came before them.

But she’s sure it’ll be beautiful, too. Some of the potential ceremonies Felix mentioned are nothing short of out of a knight’s tale or opera. Dorothea runs a manicured finger over her bare shoulder.

“So, Yurikins, when’s your wedding?” Dorothea teases, then pulls Yuri’s hand toward her and studies the flashy ring on his finger. “I can’t believe the professor’s father was keeping this for him. It’s so gorgeous.” When the light hits the ring, the deep purple gem sparkles orange. Dorothea lowers her voice, “It suits you.”

Yuri blushes, but deflects with, “Why don’t you ask him later?”

“Maybe I just will.”

A knock at the door sounds. Manuela! “Dorothea, I’m here, sorry I’m late.

“Come in!” Dorothea calls, delighted. The night prior they’d all gone out to drink in town, though most of the wedding party returned to the manor grounds relatively early, save for Manuela and Balthus. How did it progress?

Clad in her trademark jade, wrapped in a snow white fur capelet, Manuela enters the chamber, she’s done up the way only she could be after such an evening. The dress is more conservative than what she might usually wear, but still accentuates Manuela’s enviable figure. Manuela’s orange lined eyes light up when she witnesses Dorothea in her bridal attire, “Oh.”

“I did an excellent job, didn’t I?” Yuri asks.

“You did,” Manuela confirms. “Not that Dorothea needs it, but everything about you today is exquisite, darling.”

“Thank you,” Dorothea says.

Two of the most important people in Dorothea’s life are here with her now, and Dorothea’s heart is full.

“I’m so proud of you,” Manuela says.

“Would you like some wine?” Yuri offers, picking up another glass.

Manuela shoos it away, “I’ll have some later with Baltie.”

“Will you?” Yuri teases.

How _did_ last night progress?

Before Dorothea can incite the gossip session, there’s more rapping at the door, one of the servants this time, “My lady, are you ready?”

Hours tend to pass when Dorothea is with Yuri or Manuela, or both. But it is time; Dorothea whispers under her breath as I’ll ever be, before she states, “I am.”

“You can do this,” Manuela says, she always knows when Dorothea needs an extra boost of confidence.

“You can,” Yuri agrees.

Dorothea rises, holding her head high, she links one arm with each of them and they exit the dressing room to travel to the chapel.

***

The campanile’s bells told the time some time ago, Felix fidgets at the altar. Dorothea didn’t stand him up, but she’s certainly taking a while. There are rows of people, those of his late father, those from the monastery, his former classmates, his former professors, the new Archbishop. 

Light filters in through colorful stained glass, Sylvain’s hand is firm on Felix’s shoulder.

The tall, heavy doors creak open letting in beams of the white, winter sky. Felix cranes his neck, he gulps.

The first to enter is Yuri, clad in a tight red doublet—Dorothea’s colors, if she had any—his heels clack on the marble floor and ruby petals fall in his wake as he saunters to take his place to Felix’s side, across from Sylvain, Ingrid, and Dimitri.

“Please rise for the bride, the future Duchess Fraldarius,” the royal officiant’s voice booms, echoing throughout the high-ceilinged chapel. Everyone obeys.

Felix’s heart races when he sees Dorothea, arm-in-arm with Manuela. Chills cascade through him from but the sound of her feet, the swaying of the material of her gown and jewelry.

All in attendance are mesmerized by Dorothea as she approaches, and how could they not be? She’s a sight to behold. Felix would wait forever if it meant he’d live on in this moment, if it meant he’d capture the faint curl of Dorothea’s smile, if she never put that bouquet of white flowers down. Dorothea reaches the altar’s steps, Felix might get lost in her verdant eyes. He steels himself; they have a ceremony to get through.

Is this enamored expression enough to convey how in love he is with her? Of course, it’s not, but Felix tries.

The gown, its crisp white lace. The high collar that kisses Dorothea’s kissable neck. The sewn flowers that gather in her train. The subtle edge of the thorned details over Dorothea’s hips.

A rose of Felix’s own.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest begins before Felix can take a breath. He exhales through his nostrils as the clergyman continues, “we are gathered here today, in the Chapel of Fraldarius, to join these two souls together. Dorothea Arnault, a former opera singer, student of Garreg Mach’s Officer’s Academy, and soldier of the Faerghean army, and,” he increases his volume, “Felix Hugo Fraldarius, first of his name, son of Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, the King’s Right Hand, Descendant of Kyphon, Brother of the Knight Glenn, may he rest in peace, bearer of the Goddess’ Gift, The Crest of Fraldarius.”

Does he really have to list every single detail out like that? Isn’t it enough to go through ritual after ritual for the good of the realm? Felix shares an eyeroll with Dorothea. Not only is all of this for show, but Felix already took time out of his busy training schedule to tell the higher ups not to go on and on with that drivel. It’s one thing to follow customs, another to indulge in them.

The man isn’t done yet, “Prior to today, you are to have prepared a word to share with your future partner, the one who will wear your ring, who will bear your children, who will stay by your side. Are you ready, Miss Arnault?”

He doesn’t even address her as Lady, Felix sighs at the convention.

“I have.” Dorothea doesn’t have any parchment with her, “May I begin?”

“You may.”

Dorothea and Felix share a glance, she looks down, she bites her lip, she pushes one of the curls hanging out of her updo out of her face. Felix wishes he could touch her, tell her it’s all right. This is likely smaller than a performance of the Mittelfrank Opera Company’s heyday, but Dorothea seems nervous. Her eyes pool with liquid and Felix’s has to choke back the same.

“Felix,” Dorothea says, each syllable of his name slashes through Felix. 

_Fe._

_Lix._

Dorothea is quiet as she continues, “my darling.” Another hesitation, “ever since we met,” Dorothea reaches out her hand and Felix grasps it faster than anything he ever has before. Faster than a parry of his sword. Despite flames and electricity, despite Dorothea’s wielding of a blade for years, despite the physically-draining flow of healing, her palm is so delicate and soft.

“It wasn’t always easy with you,” Dorothea chuckles to herself, “but when we grew closer, when you offered to train with me when I couldn’t sleep,” she pauses and Felix has to inhale again, “you helped me. You helped me belong. When you saw me for who I was, rather than what I was. When you had tea with me. When you came to my performance in the Cathedral. When you asked me to sing for you, alone. When you first held my hand,” she scans down, “like this. I knew.

“I knew you were different. I knew I needed you in my life. When you asked me to marry you, it was the happiest day I’ve experienced, before today. I can’t wait to share so many more with you.”

It’s the most heartfelt thing she’s ever said to him, it encapsulates exactly how he feels, and Felix is ashamed that his own vows are so lackluster and unpoetic.

Yet, her eyes still flick back to his, to receive them, they shine in anticipation.

The priest prods Felix, “Duke Fraldarius, you may speak your own vows.”

The world is slipping from Felix’s grasp, tears well, he’s going to cry here, in front of everyone he holds dear, everyone he never admitted it to, until now. Felix grabs the scrap of parchment from his pocket. His penmanship is messy. 

“Thea,” Felix reads through a veil of liquid. “I love you. More than I may ever be able to say with words, but I intend to show you, every day until my last.”

That’s all. He looks up at Dorothea, and a droplet streams down her cheek. Manuela hands her an embroidered handkerchief, and she dabs her face clean. Dorothea mouths I love you, Felix.

“Will the ring bearer please approach?” Even now, the priest does not give them a moment. Lemmy, one of the orphans Dorothea cared for when they were apart for five years, walks as slow as possible, toward the altar with the rings embedded in a dark silk pillow. When the boy presents them, Dorothea and Felix each lift one in turn.

The emeralds sparkle like Dorothea’s eyes, there’s a weight to the thin platinum band.

“A ring is a symbol,” the man starts. “A symbol of your unending love for each other. It represents a cycle, a continuity, an eternity, life and death. With these rings you promise to be a constant in each other’s lives. If you understand, please, Miss Arnault, place the ring on your bethrothed’s finger.”

It catches on Felix’s knuckle, but slides to the base of his left fourth finger, gleaming white in the cool lighting. Dorothea smiles at Felix when she releases his hand.

“Your Grace, please do the same.”

Felix quivers when he cradles Dorothea’s wrist, he breathes, he pushes the ring onto her finger in a smoother motion than probably either of them expected. He drops his hands to his side.

There they are, almost man and wife, bound by the rings that they’ll wear until death.

Felix can’t hold it in anymore, he shakes, closing his eyes in an attempt to dam the torrent of water that threatens to rush out. Sylvain or Ingrid or Dimitri—maybe all three—comfort him, running hands over Felix’s shoulder, his back. 

With the support of his friends, Felix regains his composure. That was only a small display of vulnerability, wasn't it?

“Your Grace,” the officiant continues the ceremony, “are you ready for the exchange—,” he corrects himself, “the offer of your cloak.”

“I am,” Felix manages. This is what they’ve all been waiting for, other than the kiss.

The man turns to Dimitri, and bows, “Your Highness, if you will.”

Dimitri steps forward with the historical cloak of House Flardarius. Felix extends his arms, palms up, to receive it. It’s heavy, teal velvet, with a fur lining crafted from the pelt of a now almost-extinct albino wolf, the Crest of Fraldarius is emblazoned in silver thread on the back.

He’d asked Dorothea if she’d like to skip this sentimental farce, but she had insisted. _Do it for the show, I don’t mind, do it for Rodrigue._ It’s true, this is the cloak his father draped over Felix’s mother’s narrow shoulders before either he or Glenn were brought into the world. And Rodrigue’s father before him, and his father’s father. Felix doesn’t know more than that, but it carries the scent of something old, like the dusty tomes that line the shelves of Garreg Mach’s library.

“Are you ready to receive the cloak, Miss?”

“I am.” Dorothea straightens her posture.

The audience watches in reverence as Felix begins this sacred ritual, Dorothea’s eyes follow him as he positions himself behind her, her shoulder blades are visible through the opening of her dress’s back. Felix fists the edges of the cloak and prepares to drape it over his bride.

Emotion threatens to pool again as he hovers with the garment over her body, but he releases them with the cloak onto Dorothea instead. The thread of the embroidering scintillates. 

She’s a Fraldarius now.

“Your Grace,” the priest says, “please return to the original position.” Felix may have lingered there for too long, but with a ceremony like this how could he not? 

Dorothea is his wife.

From the front, Dorothea is gorgeous as well, and Felix finds himself relieved that she’s wrapped in what is designed for the frigid climate of the North and this drafty chamber.

“With the offer of your cloak, you offer your protection, you offer the protection of the realm. It is not a promise we take lightly, you are now bound to House Fraldarius for the rest of time, your names will go down in history. This moment will be remembered by generations to come. Goddess willing, one day your own heir will place this same cloak on his betrothed.”

Yeah, yeah, Felix knows. This moment is powerful enough without the old man explaining everything. Dorothea and Felix both shoot a glance and wait out the rest of the exposition.

“Well, without further ado,” he says, “you may now kiss your bride.”

 _Finally._ Felix doesn’t hesitate, his hand runs over the soft velvet of the back of the cloak, over the stitching of the house sigel and he pulls Dorothea close to him. Her eyes widen at first and their lips meet. It’s a deeper kiss than is probably traditional, but after seeing Dorothea like this, after listening to that speech forever, after hearing how she truly felt, after telling her how he felt, it’s exactly what Felix needs. Dorothea wraps her arms around Felix and she matches his intensity as she kisses him back.

She tastes like vanilla, her fragrance is a spring garden.

The heel of Dorothea’s wedding shoe clacks on the marble as Felix pushes her even further. Felix forgets where he is.

“I now pronounce you Duke and Duchess Fraldarius,” the priest interrupts and they reluctantly break their kiss, catching their breath to the sounds of cheers and clapping.

The love of Felix’s life—his wife—grins wide.

Onto the feast.

***

From the streets, to the opera house, to the Officer’s Academy, and now to the Great Hall of Fraldarius, Duchess Dorothea sits at the deis with her Duke husband. To the right of Felix are members of the Fargehian nobility, including King Dimitri, to the left of herself, are Yuri and Manuela. The rest of the guests are seated at long tables through the chamber, indulging in sparkling wine and the fifth of approximately thirty courses to be served.

The celebratory menu features a mixture of local delicacies, hearty winter fare to melt the ice from their bones, and culminates in a multi-day roast of forest aurochs. Fish isn’t standard in Fraldarius, and while Dorothea misses the coast, she’s thankful for that. 

Though the dishes are delectable, Dorothea is much more overwhelmed by something else. She is married to Felix, she’s holding his hand, and she won’t ever let go. Her husband’s dark ponytail sways as he treats, making his form of niceties with the various nobles that approach to wish them well. Dorothea appreciates the gesture, but if only they were alone.

After the banquet: a dance, then bed. Felix’s deep sea wedding attire suits him; he’s clean, scentless but for his jasmine hair oil, none of the beloved training grounds sweat, the steel and dust and iron. There’s something enticing about seeing him freshened like this. Dorothea trails her hand up Felix’s muscular thigh and squeezes.

Before Felix can respond to her advance, a bright red mop of hair bobs through the crowd and Sylvain is before them, with Ingrid in tow, “Congrats, Fe.”

“Yes, congratulations to both of you! What a beautiful ceremony,” Ingrid says.

“That was some kiss,” Sylvain comments. “You know there’s still a wedding night.”

“Shut up, Sylvain,” Felix huffs.

Some things never change. Though she agrees with the sentiment, Dorothea assists her husband, rolling her eyes, “We are well aware, Sylvie.”

That curbs him for now, “Great feast! I hope we can share a dance later, Duchess Arnault.”

“I’ll have to see if I have time,” Dorothea says, “I promised Yurikins I’d dance with him after Felix.”

“Ice cold,” Sylvain’s expression contorts into an approximation of wounded, “you’ll fit in well up here.”

“Sylvain,” Ingrid interrupts, “come on, let’s leave the newlyweds to treat with their other guests, there will be plenty of time to tease Felix later.”

“Alright, alright, Ing,” Sylvain agrees and allows Ingrid to drag him back to their place at the table closest to the deis.

Felix sighs and returns his hand to rest atop Dorothea’s.

By the time silverware clangs against a pewter goblet, Dorothea has lost count of which course they are on. Dimitri stands, dwarfing herself and Felix, holding his cup high.

“Honored Guests,” Dimitri says, “I’d like to propose a toast to congratulate Duke Fraldarius and welcome Duchess Fraldarius to the Kingdom of Faerghus.”

The room falls silent as their King begins.

“Both the Duke and Duchess fought valiantly by my side during our time in the Blue Lions at the Officer’s Academy, and later on, during the War. Without the two of them, I could not stand before you today as I am, I would not be your King.” Dimitri’s voice quavers.

“Without Felix, who supported me when I thought all was lost, even when I would not dignify his presence with so much as a word.” Dimitri pauses to take a breath before he turns to acknowledge Felix. “For that, my friend, I am eternally grateful.”

“I grew up in these halls. We’ve feasted here many a time, for many an obligation. But none come close to the joyousness of today’s festivities. The day you took a wife, nay, a partner, whom you’ll love and cherish until the end of your days. I couldn’t be happier that Dorothea transferred to our class those years ago.

“That you met your match, whose tongue is as sharp as yours, who can keep up with both your banter and your swordsmanship. The beautiful Duchess Fraldarius, soft of heart and strong of will. I know you’ll enjoy her company until you both depart this mortal realm. May your future be full of love, happiness, and music.”

Dimitri raises his glass higher, his voice as well, “To Duke and Duchess Fraldarius.”

In that moment, Dimitri almost resembles his younger, regal self. The boy who led the Blue Lions, whose royal blue cape fluttered in the wind as he traversed the Garreg Mach’s courtyards beneath an equally blue sky. Before Dorothea even changed classes, when Edie’s laugh rang true and the only worry in Ferdie’s mind was one-upping her… 

“Hear ye, hear ye,” the crowd chants, ushering Dorothea back to where she is, to her new life, here in Faerghus.

Here, in the place they saved.

Most of Dorothea's pain—never all of it—dissipates when she observes Felix’s reddened, softened cheeks after Dimitri’s speech. The two of them have an unspeakable bond, and Dorothea’s happy they’ll always be in each other’s lives. Dorothea grasps Felix’s hand and whispers, “I love you.”

The rest of the courses pass swiftly, even though Dorothea barely nibbles at them. She’s much more preoccupied with the various guests who come to visit them upon the deis. Particularly when Balthus makes an appearance, not for Yuri, but for Manuela, grinning with all of his teeth as he expresses what fun he had last night.

Good for them. To see Manuela smile, to watch her eyes squint in innocent, or not so innocent, delight, means everything to Dorothea.

After some time and some servants carrying a myriad cleared plates back to the kitchens, Dimitri announces, “That concludes our feast. Please follow the attendants to the ballroom for the dance portion of the evening.”

Dorothea rises first, pushing in her chair and extends her hand to Felix, “Are you ready, darling?”

He accepts.

*

The ballroom’s opulent double doors are parted by the staff and Dorothea’s eyes widen in wonder. It’s enormous, it’s grand, regal festivities must have been held here since the birth of Faerghus, or earlier. Fraldarius is an immensely powerful house to have afforded such a luxury even back then.

“Amazing.”

Without as much as a command, the guests gather toward the walls of the room, no one is to dance before the Duke and the Duchess’ first, and despite Dorothea’s performance experience, her heart clenches.

There’s no chorus, no orchestra, no band, only a blonde-haired songstress clutching a lute, clothed in nothing special, cross-legged, sitting upon a high stool on the stage above them. For a Dukedom so preoccupied with its status and well-familiar with operas, this seems rather provincial.

“Silence everyone,” the priest who married them speaks up from the front of the crowd. “Duke and Duchess Fraldarius, please make your way to the center of the floor.”

It’s now or never, Felix leads Dorothea by the hand to the center of the grand room and places his hand on the back of her waist in the typical starting position for a waltz. The strings of the lute squeak a bit as the girl tunes it in preparation, but all eyes are on Dorothea and Felix when the song begins.

The woman’s timbre is distinct, haunting even, the edge of every syllable sticks, then drips like honey. At first, Dorothea doesn’t recognize the song, or even the language itself. Without her studies at the Academy, she’d never have, it’s in an old tongue; it’s wispy, romantic, and deep.

The quiet, mysterious elegance entrances Dorothea and she has to catch up to Felix when he nudges her to move across the room.

O love it is true  
The one I’ve dreamed of  
I found in you  
Why did that one flee?

They’ve never danced like this before, they may never again, but Dorothea is astounded by how _poised_ Felix is as he leads her to the Northwestern corner of the floor. Still she follows.

To stay by your side  
I chased, I tracked  
Past the bloom’d field  
O’er snowy mountain peaks

Dorothea has been on the arm of plenty of noble’s at occasions such as this, but she’s never seen someone so natural. Felix must have been doing this since he was small, since Glenn took Ingie’s hand and taught her alongside him. It shouldn’t be surprising, but Dorothea is captivated to learn through being Felix’s partner, through falling into step with him.

Right foot forward, left foot back, one, two, three, four.

“You’re talented at this, darling.”

“Unfortunately.” Felix doesn’t miss a beat as he raises Dorothea’s hand so she may turn beneath their arms.

Well-accustomed to a certain style of movement, Dorothea rolls her hips as she twirls. It has the desired effect, Felix palm presses against her back, urging her closer, there’s a flame behind his amber eyes when they flick down to study Dorothea’s face. Her lips part as she takes in her husband's visage in turn. He’s so incredibly handsome, his midnight hair shines cerulean beneath ambient lighting as he guides Dorothea.

The forest  
The clearing  
Light that kissed your skin  
Depth in emerald eyes  
Tears slid down your cheek

The first verse had been simpler to parse, this one probably sounds better in the old Fhaerghean, but still, the image it evokes vivid in Dorothea’s mind. It’s quite sad for a wedding ballad, but Dorothea can’t brush it off through an eyeroll with Felix as she returns her gaze to him. The softness of his expression matches the emotion of the song. He is captivated, he is radiant. How he feels for Dorothea is plain to see, and the mutual affection bubbles up within Dorothea.

“I’m so happy.” Dorothea can’t hold it in.

“...Me too.”

I saved you  
Saved myself  
I drew the blade  
But ne’er struck

Even though the room is full of people, it’s as if it’s only them. Only the familiar callouses of Felix’s hand, the candlelight flickering off his cheekbones, the beloved fragrance of his hair when he draws Dorothea closer, then dips her again. Dorothea chokes back a tear.

“Don’t cry,” Felix says. “I’m here.”

We fled  
We stole away  
And now  
Love it is true  
The dream shall never end  
We’ll make our home here  
O’er snowy mountain peaks

The unchanging wintery landscape of the Faerghus and Fraldarius. The rugged beauty has enchanted for eons, and, no matter the sunshine she’s known, this is Dorothea’s home, the place of a Dutchess of the North. O’er snowy mountain peaks she’ll dress in furs and thick cloaks and velvet. O’er snowy mountain peaks she’ll rule alongside Felix.

We’ll tie our hands and  
We’ll bind our souls  
Together we’ll be  
One heart, one home

A tear beads and rolls down Dorothea’s cheek as the songstress delivers the final line and plays the outro. Dorothea doesn’t know what to do but look at Felix, doesn’t know what to say. Felix smiles when their eyes meet; she doesn’t need to know. Dorothea melts into him, burying her face in his collarbone, warmed in his instantaneous embrace. Fraldarius’ cold won’t touch her. 

It’s only them, only comfort.

“Congratulations, Duke and Duchess Fraldarius!” The officiant proclaims once the room is silent. Dorothea doesn’t know how long she was in Felix's arms.

Just a quick wipe beneath her eye and Felix grabs Dorothea’s hand, tight and earnest, the new ring he’s wearing digs into her fingers more than it probably should as they bow for their guests. All of these people are here to support her, but Felix is all she’ll ever need.

It doesn’t take long before the melancholy song is replaced by festive folk tunes and the atmosphere finally begins to resemble that of a celebration.

“Come on, darling,” Dorothea half-teases. But Felix accepts, he isn’t too bad at this either. The two of them dance to the lively track until Yuri makes an appearance.

“Mind if I cut in?”

“I did promise Yurikins a dance,” Dorothea says to Felix.

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Yuri reassures him.

“You better,” Felix says. Both Dorothea and Yuri laugh as Felix disappears into the crowd and Dorothea takes Yuri’s hand.

Yuri dances differently than Felix, more like Dorothea herself. There’s a smoothness, and sexiness, at the same time he’s a little rough around the edges. Felix is all poise and efficiency, well-taught to be sure. 

“Congratulations, Ladybird.”

“Thank you!” Dorothea exclaims. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Yuri smiles, his lipgloss glistens, “You could have, but I’m happy you think so.”

Yuri helped Dorothea more than he could ever know, by being a friend, a confidant, by understanding the parts of her no one else could ever. She hopes he’ll be able to visit here in good health and often; he will. Just Yuri’s spirit is enough to keep Dorothea dancing well into the evening, until Byleths steals him away, “Sorry to interrupt, but…”

“Oh, professor,” Dorothea coos. “After the ball at Garreg Mach, I thought I’d never see you dance.”

“That was before he met me,” Yuri says.

“It was,” Byleth states before he extends his hand to Yuri.

“Have a great time, Yurikins!” Dorothea says before turning to leave.

“Wait,” Yuri says, “where are you off to?”

“I suppose I’ll find my husband.”

“All right,” Yuri says, “thanks for everything. You know where to find me if you need any throats slit.” Yuri is joking, but there’s something comforting about it.

“I certainly do.” Dorothea nods and travels through the crowd. She passes Mercedes, Dedue, Dimitri himself, and, at the edge of her vision, who she could swear are Manuela and Balthus alongside the refreshments table. 

But there he is. There Felix stands, glaring at Sylvain in the corner of the room.

They pick up where they left off, spending the rest of the evening treating more, dancing more, being congratulated more. It’s late, late by the time the music dies down and Felix turns to her with a gleam in his eye.

“So,” he starts, then averts his gaze toward the doors, “to the wedding suite.”

Dorothea’s heart pounds.

***

The climb to the historical overlook chamber, where they’re to share their first night together as man and wife, is longer than Felix remembers it being. The highest part of the castle, reserved for esteemed guests and occasions such as this. Thankfully, there’s no antiquated bedding ceremony to follow, only these spiraling stairs stand between him, Dorothea, and the consummation of their marriage.

Not that Felix cares about that, but he’s been staring at her all day, he’s been touching her all day, it’s a natural response.  
“This is a workout,” Dorothea comments. It must be difficult to walk in that.

“We’re almost there.” Felix is determined, even though his legs are, regrettably, tired from standing and dancing for hours.

When they reach the narrow, short hallway outside the chamber, Dorothea teases, “Are you planning to carry me over the threshold?”

“You can walk, can’t you?” Felix replies, but he hears the invitation, the hope in Dorothea’s voice. Without another word, he steps forward, reaching under Dorothea’s knees, and around her bare shoulders to cradle her into his arms before kicking the door open and carrying her into the room. 

“You’re beautiful,” he comments as he watches the surprised look on Dorothea’s face transform to delight. The canopied bed in the center of the room awaits, Felix won’t waste time considering the fine furniture. The accommodations are nice enough, the hearth is stoked, there are far too many candles. They can admire it all when they wake up, but for now…

Felix kisses Dorothea while she’s still in his arms, her hand finds his jawline and she coaxes him close enough to taste the wine on her tongue, for her breast to press up against him. Felix’s breeches are already tenting.

“I want you,” Felix says as he places Dorothea, gently as a doll, on the bed.

A rosiness creeps onto Dorothea’s cheeks when she looks up at Felix, “So do I.”

That’s all Felix needs; he straddles Dorothea, kneeling and pinning her down by the wrists the way she likes it. Felix savors every drop of her, inhales her intoxicating aroma, licks into her mouth. Her tongue meets his and they fall into a rhythm they both know by heart.

“I love you,” Dorothea mumbles against him, threading her fingers through Felix’s hair, loosening his ponytail.

“I love you,” Felix states. Only Dorothea; now and forever.

Felix trembles when a hand wedges between them and wraps around his cock through the fabric of his wedding attire. Dorothea smiles at him.

“Thea...”

“I like it,” she whispers.

He’ll never grow tired of hearing it from her, “You’re my wife, now.”

“You're my husband.”

Felix kisses her again, deeper, Dorothea belongs here beneath him. Even through the lace of her dress, Dorothea’s breasts are so soft, they move with Felix when he rubs against her. 

It’s like their earliest experiences, when Felix first felt Dorothea. Those times—back when he attended Dorothea’s performance in the Cathedral, back when she saved him in battle, back when they worked up the courage to confess. Dorothea had been so uncertain then, about what it meant, about if it were real, but even so, their love blossomed and they never left each other’s side.

And their attraction never left either, in fact, it's likely stronger now. Now that they understand each other, now that they’ve been waiting for each other all day long. Just seeing Dorothea in her dress would have been enough, but dancing with her had awakened that basest yearning; watching her twirl, the rock of her hips even during a waltz.

Felix’s wife is irresistible.

“Darling, some space.”

Felix obeys and Dorothea sits up enough to fumble with the back clasp of her dress’ neckline. A look of consternation appears on her face, and Felix is getting impatient, too, he allows her up, positioning himself next to her, “Let me do it.”

“Please.”

Even from behind, Dorothea is enchanting, to think he draped the cloak over her shoulders just hours earlier, and now this. Parting auburn tresses that have tumbled loose from her hairstyle, Felix finds the clasp. It snaps open easily enough and Felix turns his attention to the laces below, “Complicated.”

“It was worth it.”

“It was,” Felix says as he returns to face Dorothea. Though she holds the dress’ bodice against herself, Dorothea’s collarbone is visible, her breasts are almost spilling out. More. “Though, it will look better on the floor.”

Dorothea blushes at that, she bites her lip. Felix used to say things like this unintentionally, but if being with Dorothea has taught him anything, it’s timing, it’s making her ache. The dress falls forward as Dorothea lets go. Now Felix can see her perfect pink nipples, her hands trace her curves before they grasp at her dress so she may begin to shimmy out of it.

Down, lower. Felix watches in rapture as each centimeter of Dorothea’s skin is revealed until the only coverings are white lace smallclothes and a matching garter.

 _Fuck_ is all Felix can respond with; it’s hot in here.

Even hotter when he’s suddenly so close to Dorothea’s thigh, taking the skin next to the garter into his mouth and starting to suck on it, licking at it, kissing Dorothea all over.

“ _Felix._ ”

In this state of fervor, Felix doesn’t mind the scalloped white lace now in his mouth as he sucks harder on impossibly supple flesh.

“Darling…”

Something compels Felix to take the material between his teeth and drag it down almost to Dorothea’s knee before he releases and utilizes his hand to finish the job.

“You’re so sexy.” Dorothea points her toe and Felix slides the garter belt completely off of her.

“Goddess, Thea.” Like this, Dorothea is even more gorgeous than she was during the day, all done-up.

“Your turn. And let your hair down.”

Only Dorothea matters, what she wants he’ll do.

Felix doesn’t indulge in the process, he practically rips his custom tunic as he unbuttons it and shrugs it off. He unlaces his breeches only as much as he needs to before kicking them into the corner of the room. The silk tie holding his hair up slips off from but a tug, causing Felix’s inky locks to fall past his shoulders. “Are you happy now?”

“What do you think?” Dorothea runs her fingers through his hair.

“Lie down.” When Dorothea reclines onto the pillow, Felix has to touch her. His hand descends, over the soft top of her breast, he gives it a squeeze before trailing over her stomach to cup Dorothea’s heat though her smallclothes. “Off.”

Dorothea arches her back, hooking her fingers beneath her waistband and nudging them down to rest at mid-thigh.  
She’s ready, but what to do? Lick? Finger?

That will be better; Felix wants to be as close to her as possible when he takes her apart, wants to see every minor scrunch of her brow, every gasp, the squint of her eyes.

Still, Felix has to sneak a taste of her, he lowers himself to dart his tongue out, swiping over her slit. Dorothea quivers before Felix props himself up on a forearm beside her, “Felix…”

“Yeah.” A slickness coats Felix’s finger when he dips toward Dorothea’s hole and inside, Dorothea’s pussy was wet before Felix even licked her. More trickles out when he presses against the fleshy inner wall. 

_Gentle._ Even though Felix is efficient at this by now, there’s no need to rush tonight. Felix revels in how _warm_ she is around him as he rotates his index inside of her. Dorothea whimpers, she reaches to tweak at her own nipple. 

“Good,” Felix says. 

Dorothea whines when he slips in another finger and picks up the pace. Lewd sounds echo as he plunges in and out of her. Dorothea cants her hips to take them deeper, “More.”

Not yet.

“Wait.” Felix withdraws both with a swift motion, his fingers shine in the candlelight and he brings them up to his mouth, running his tongue along them to taste what he’s able to do to Dorothea.

“Felix,” she exhales.

“My wife.” Felix returns his hand to her, brushing against her clit.

“Don’t stop,” Dorothea breathes. “Please.”

Felix sighs, he’d never be able to tease her for that long, plus, his cock is throbbing just watching her like this. Dorothea’s lashes flutter shut as the pad of Felix’s thumb makes contact with her clit and he extends his fingers below to thrust into Dorothea’s pussy.

Dorothea purses her lips in suggestion, of course, Felix accepts. It starts chaste enough for an open-mouthed kiss; their tongues roll over each other, but then there’s a pressure as Dorothea sucks, pulling Felix even closer. Her breast is pressed between them again, soft against Felix’s tight chest. Consumed by the sensation, the frost of sweat that gathers where skin-meet-kiss, Felix halts his motion, he’s leaking within his smalls just from feeling her.

Soon; Dorothea comes first.

It’s difficult, but Felix pulls back, exhaling as he focuses on bringing his beloved to the edge. He’s in control, he won’t kiss her again, instead, Felix licks past her now-smeared lips over her jaw to her sensitive neck, biting down. Dorothea shakes, “Fe—”

She’s so close. Just in time to watch Dorothea’s hand drop from her breast to dig into the luxurious sheets, Felix returns to her side. Her hips twist, her muscles tense, her thighs rumble. 

“Do you like it?” Felix asks, even though he knows the answer, pressing harder, his fingers are soaking by now. That was what she needed, Dorothea moans, squeezing her eyes shut, sighing, shivering. Felix doesn’t relent until she’s grabbing for his wrist. 

After that, all Dorothea can do is catch her breath and mutter, “I love you.”

Undone, Dorothea is at her most gorgeous, more dazzling than on the stage, more immaculate than at the ceremony, “You look good.”

“Thank you,” Dorothea says. “You’re incredible.”

Felix is proud of the pleasure he’s able to provide to her, but the trust between them means so much more. She’d been so nervous the first time she removed her makeup in front of him, but now Dorothea is able to be herself. She pulls Felix into a tender kiss. It’s clumsier now, Dorothea’s tongue tickles Felix’s lower lip, the way it always does when he’s satisfied her. 

Neither of them thought they’d make it here, neither of them thought they’d ever meet, ever become sparring, then battlefield, then life partners. But here they are, and there’s nowhere else Felix could imagine being. Even with all of those he’s loved and lost, Dorothea is here, Dorothea is home.

“I love you,” Dorothea repeats. How does she look so wistful?

“I love you, Thea.” Felix smiles.

“Do you still want to?”

_Want to what?_

Felix has his answer when Dorothea’s hand drags over the smallclothes constricting his still-hard cock. Dorothea’s company is more than anyone deserves, he could have been happy with just making her feel good, but his cock is interested. In her curves against him, in her spit-slicked lips.

“Of course, I want to,” Felix admits, he palms her breast and lowers to lick over it, swirling his tongue around her nipple. Her skin is as delicious as ever.

Dorothea tightens her grip, and Felix can’t stop his hips from jerking forward into it. Goddess, he needs her.

She urges Felix’s smallclothes down, freeing his already-weeping cock, “Come here.”

Felix gets on top of Dorothea, rubbing against her as he kisses her once more, the tip of his dick prods at her wet pussy. Dorothea widens her hips in response so Felix is flush against her slit.

“Can I?” Felix asks.

“Yes.”

Felix is so damn lucky; he pushes in deliberately, savoring how Dorothea stretches around him as he buries himself to the hilt. After today, that show they put on, being overcome by only primal desire is welcome, the purest form of love. It’s beautiful—Felix might cry if he weren’t so aroused.

“You feel so good,” Felix manages as he begins to rock his hips. _Too good._ He has to make the most of this.

Felix groans when he pulls completely out of Dorothea and fills her again, succumbing to the need to feel the difference between being inside her and out.

“Felix!”

When she says his name, Felix has to clench to hold back; it can’t be over yet.

Nature is all that remains. 

Felix shoves his arms beneath Dorothea, leaning back onto his haunches, pulling her into his lap. His hands find her narrow waist and he pulls her along him, it stings when Dorothea’s nails bite into Felix’s shoulder muscles. Her tits bounce with her and in this position, she is so much tighter, but not enough.

Faster than anything, Felix pushes Dorothe back down, grabbing her thighs to drag her to the edge of the bed as he plants his feet on the floor. He’s dripping with sweat, from his pecs to his abdomen, he positions himself at her entrance. 

“Is that better?” Dorothea breathes.

“...Yes,” Felix murmurs. He pounds into her, Felix doesn’t care what face he’s making, he grasps Dorothea’s ankles and hooks them over his shoulders so when he’s deep, she’s almost folded in half, her thighs compress her breasts against her.

So hot and tight and damp, it won’t be long, Dorothea keens as she stares directly into Felix’s eyes. He flexes his hips, snapping against Dorothea as he fucks her with everything he has.

“Fuck. Close.” Felix shudders, he chases that high, drilling into her.

“Come in me, Felix.”

“Yeah.” Felix’s breath hitches when he agrees, Dorothea is somehow even tighter now—he’s about to unwind. His eyes screw shut, hard, Felix inhales sharply as he spends inside of his wife. Hot, thick seed coats Felix’s length, and all of Dorothea’s pussy. 

Much too much.

Panting Felix collapses on top of Dorothea, lingering inside her. When Felix’s eyes open, his vision is clouded with black spots, “I love you, Thea.”

The scent of their bodies hangs in the air, it’s damp between them, their sweat intertwined. Felix finally rolls to Dorothea’s side, dropping his arms onto the mattress.

Dorothea turns to face him, her finger twirls a piece of long dark hair that has fanned out on the pillow beneath Felix, “I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

“Neither can I.” A black curtain, Felix’s eyes fall close as he floats away, Dorothea’s lips are velvet on his cheek.

*

When Felix drifts back to reality, Dorothea sits at the edge beneath the windowsill, in a dressing gown, contemplating the waxing moon and countryside. He finds his smallclothes, and joins her. The frigid air rushing in is pleasant after that.

The snow capped mountains extend into eternity, is there a bloom’d field somewhere beyond? Felix strokes through the disheveled waves Dorothea’s hair, down toward the shoulder he rest the cloak on. “Duchess Fraldarius.”

“Duke Fraldarius.”

The aptly blue light enshrouds Dorothea as Felix finds a place to sit beside her. The grip of her hand jolts him awake, he clutches her narrow waist.

“Today was like an opera,” Dorothea says to the window.

“It was,” Felix says. “And, now, we’re home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> Writing this was a journey, and I made myself cry a few times in the process T__T.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/fraldariuwus)


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